


The Robin Hood Hiccup

by toasterness



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: A Hint Of Myan Because I Can't Help Myself, Alternate Universe - GTAV, Angst, Brotp, FAHC, Gen, Heist gone wrong, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Michael Jones And Gavin Free Friendship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Team Nice Dynamite, Team as Family, The Author Regrets Nothing, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:41:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22597246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toasterness/pseuds/toasterness
Summary: “Gav?” He croaked out.There was a short hiccuping sob.“Gavin, is that you?”This time the sobbing formed words, words that felt as if they were being spoken directly into Michael’s very core. “It hurts, Michael.”Fuck. “I know, boy, I know, but you gotta hold on a little longer, ok? I’m gonna get us outta here, both of us, you got that?”“How?”Michael could feel tears rolling down his cheeks again. He’d been doing more crying those past few days than he’d done in his whole life previously. “I don’t – I don’t know yet. But I’ll figure something out, you know I will! I always take care of my boy.”
Relationships: Gavin Free & Michael Jones
Comments: 65
Kudos: 119





	1. The First Slip-Up

**Author's Note:**

> Another kidnapping and torture fic? By yours truly?? Who would have thunk.
> 
> Big shout out to my ever-patient betas [shineelocket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineelocket) and [wefall-nomore](https://wefall-nomore.tumblr.com)
> 
> Anyway, I'm back on my bull shit, have fun 😎

There were only a few rules that Geoff Ramsey had for his crew and to break those rules was to break his trust. By far the easiest was to always give back, to never take from those who couldn’t afford it; huge portions of their takes from heists went back to the city, to those who needed it way more than them. Jack had her LGBTQ youth center downtown, Geoff that pediatrics wing at Mercy General. Each crew member had something or somewhere to balance out all the crap they pulled. Los Santos was already a shitty enough place without the Fakes messing it up any more.

Geoff also prohibited stealing from those who didn’t deserve it. The city wasn’t in short supply of corrupt, heinous individuals in positions of power, so there was no reason to stray from that pool of potential targets. They always produced the best payout anyway.

But the number one rule? Fakes never shoot first.

It was a simple rule, one that assured that they never took the fall for whatever it was that occurred. And a bullet didn’t have to come from a gun; a bullet could be a CEO embezzling money from their staff, or a racist judge with a god complex, or a mob boss that dug their claws in a bit too deep. Sure, they would lie and kill and burn whole buildings to the ground but it was always in self defense, your honor, we swear. It was easier for their lawyers to get them out of jail time if they could show that it wasn’t actually their fault – that guy had it coming, really. No bribes involved, just very careful negotiations. And if no one found out their lawyers weren’t who they seemed, then no harm done.

It wasn’t like they couldn’t get out of prison if they did happen to get stuck with a conviction; there had been several jail breaks directly caused by the Fake’s influence and there could always be more. But they didn’t condone, of course, the release of the more violent and disgusting predators kept behind bars, those monsters deserved what they got. If a handful of young gangsters got out along with the unlucky crew member, so what? As long as they knew who it was who saved them from the chopping block and respected that gift, there wouldn’t be any problems. If they didn’t, well, there were a couple people Geoff knew that would want to have a word with them.

All of these rules meant that the Fakes could maintain their standing as the most powerful crew in Los Santos, one of the top dogs on the entire west coast. They had enemies, sure, but they were never anything they couldn’t take care of. Geoff was incredibly proud of how far they’d come, from him and Jack robbing gas station convenience stores and living in their camper van to a crew he called family and connections all over the country. Their power and influence over the city truly gave him joy, especially when he could see the positive impact they had alongside the chaos he so loved.

Which was why, for the fifth time in six months, he was planning another heist on Maze Bank. For the last two, they’d hit it twice in the same week just to prove they could. It was effortless each time, though their most recent success had at least proven a decent challenge. Even Gavin had admitted he was impressed; _t_ _hey’ve invested in some fancy new toys_ , he’d said after successfully hacking into their security system. This time was sure to be even more “difficult” but Geoff was positive it wouldn’t pose a real problem.

The first hit in the spree wasn’t really their first; they’d pulled multiple heists on Maze over the previous years but recently it had come to light how corrupt the people in charge of it all actually were and Geoff was more than happy to step up his record. It had been laughably easy, like the bank had completely forgotten every other time they’d been broken into. All it took was a couple well-placed lock picks and a few sticks of dynamite and the Fakes were in the vault. The second time involved a bit too much explosives ( _honestly Geoff, how can we call ourselves team Nice Dynamite if we don’t bring the heat?_ ) and the third time saw Gavin with a shit eating grin on his face as he used a piece of scotch tape and a cup from the trash to bypass the fingerprint scanner. The retinal scanner Maze installed for the fourth hit? Gavin made quick work of thattoo with a special app on his phone – the intercom system for the whole building blasted Never Gonna Give You Up for a week before the bank could fix it.

Honestly, the Fakes were getting a little bored, a little restless, these Maze Bank heists not challenging them enough. Ryan in particular felt like he wasn’t getting his hands sufficiently dirty. They pulled odd jobs here and there and had their fun testing new equipment and weapons out at their desert bunker but it never quite seemed to take the edge off. So Geoff left the corrupt bastards in their fancy skyscraper to stew in their failures, to maybe come up with some better security measures before the Fakes came back for more. Maybe then Alfredo would stop complaining about things being stagnant.

After a month, it was determined that the time was right – they would be robbing the place blind once more. It was to be their best heist yet, a record-setter for sure. They spent days preparing, making sure to plan for anything the bank might throw at them. It was going to be a fun heist, full of the wild stuff the Fakes were known for and all the little things that each crew member thought would be cool to try out. There would even be a firetruck involved at the end, thanks to one particularly insistent lad. It was a solid plan that everyone agreed would work, one that had the added benefit of being one of the craziest they had pulled thus far.

So it came as a huge surprise when it all went completely wrong.

It started as other heists did, with the main crew dividing up into their predetermined teams – Geoff and Jack, Michael and Gavin, Ryan and Alfredo. They needed a big distraction (or, rather, they _wanted_ a big distraction) so of course Jack stole a cargobob and of _course_ Geoff somehow got his hands on a tank. It was slow going but eventually there was a rogue tank running a muck just outside the prison, Geoff cackling as he fired shot after shot into the air, sometimes even into the ground next to the fences. Despite there being no real damage to the prison itself, a huge portion of the LSPD showed up to contain the situation. Jack was really enjoying using her ‘bob to pick up and drop their cars and watching them explode upon impact.

Back in downtown, Ryan and Alfredo had set up the getaway van and requested firetruck nearby the bank and then split off to find ideal places to provide overwatch from. Alfredo chose to head up a few floors with his sniper rifle while his counterpart remained on the ground, waiting for the other team to bring their haul out. Best to have all your angles covered when you expected a lot of counter-attack. That left Gavin and Michael to do the good bits, which was more than alright for them. They left their bikes close to the firetruck and made their way to their infiltration point.

Getting into the basement of Maze Bank where the vault was installed was the easy part – they’d done it so many times now that it was practically second nature. Bit of explosives ( _not t_ _o_ _o much, Gav, you know how Geoff was last time_ ), a quick remote hack into the security system, and they were in. Easy as pie! When they reached the vault door, Gavin pulled out his phone to connect to the new access panel; he’d been watching the cameras, studying the movements of the fingers of people entering the vault, building a program to predict the ever changing passwords. He’d already figured out how to trick the system into thinking his eyes and fingers were the correct ones and now he had a way to quickly determine the numbers needed for any particular day. It never crossed his mind that something wouldn’t work.

But there he was, quietly panicking to himself as the numbers on the keypad continuously switched places, blinking in and out as they moved. The cameras hadn’t been clear enough to see this particular detail and Gavin’s program was built on the assumption of a static number pad – there was never any reason for him to think otherwise! His system was useless now and he didn’t have a back up plan.

“How’s it goin’ back there, boy?”

Gavin didn’t bother looking up at Michael, who stood guard with his gun pointing out into the hallway towards the stairs. “Er, fine, just give me a sec.” His skin crawled with the lie.

No amount of anxiety was going to fix this so Gavin took a huge breath and began to frantically type away on his phone. He tried code after code, pulling out all the skills in his arsenal to try and figure _something_ out. The security alarm blared in his ears and made it hard to concentrate but he pushed through the growing headache.

Gunshots sounded from up the stairs. “You close Gav? They’re gonna break down the door soon.”

Part of Gavin’s original hack was to lock down all the doors leading to the vault, blocking the guards path to them while they worked. It was one thing to prevent the bank from noticing them while they approached and prepared but there wasn’t much the two of them could have done to hide the noise from the C4. They knew the locks wouldn’t hold for long, of course they did, but it hadn’t been in the plan to take this long.

“I’m almost in,” Gavin lied again.

Sirens screamed from somewhere in the distance – the LSPD was on their inevitable way.

 _Shit shit shit shit_ \- “ _Fuck!_ ” the Brit exclaimed.

Michael glanced back at him. “Gav, seriously, we’re pushing it on time; we’re supposed to have the first load out in one minute.”

“I know!” he growled back. “I just need a little more time!”

If he could just – maybe – there might be a way to – _there_! He had it! There was a small click and the door beeped as it slowly swung outward. Gavin stood up straight and hopped a little on the balls of his feet, panic still swirling in his gut. Michael gave a loud whoop and ducked inside the vault to begin filling his duffle. The two of them moved quickly, pulling out the safety deposit boxes belonging to individuals already determined to be worthy of the theft. If it weren’t for the surprise time loss, it would have felt like any other heist.

“ _Where are you guys?_ ” came Ryan’s voice from the comms. “ _You were supposed to be out here three minutes ago!_ ”

Michael panted a little as he ran out of the vault, headed towards the hole in the wall that was their path to the others. “On our way with the first batch.”

Gavin wasn’t far behind, open bag jostling against his hip as he ran. His mind was filled with numbers as he did the math on how risky it was to go back down for more before they absolutely needed to be out of there. The odds of everything going tits up were high but he’d already buggered it and he didn’t want the heist to be a flop because of him. So when he got to the van where Ryan was grabbing Michael’s bag from him, he tossed his to the ground and grabbed another from the back and immediately turned around and headed back the way he came.

“Gavin!” Michael yelled after him as he check his watch. “We don’t have fucking time, let’s go!”

But it was too late; Gavin ignored him and ran down into the still open vault. “I can still get a bit more, Michael, I’ve got this!”

With a loud _FUCK_ Michael bolted from Ryan’s side towards his best friend as he shouted back to Ryan. “Get the hell outta here, I’ll go get him and we’ll head to our vehicles!”

He could hear the gent say something about them being idiots but he continued after Gavin. The alarm was still going off and the knocking at the door to the main building was much louder than it was before. Police sirens and gunfire echoed from outside, presumably from Alfredo keeping them at bay. If he was quick, he might be able to get Gavin before their time was completely up.

Down in the vault, Gavin was haphazardly dumping things into his bag while swearing to himself. His movements were agitated and his eyes were bright. Every time there was a particularly loud thump on the door, Michael saw him flinch.

“Come on shithead, we don’t have time for this, let’s go!”

Gavin didn’t look up. “I messed it up Michael, I have to make up for it.”

“Bull shit you do!” He reached out and yanked on Gavin’s arm, the other lad stumbling a little from the force. “We’re going, now!”

Just as Michael managed to pull Gavin into the hall, the door at the top of the stair burst open and gunfire began to rain down the stairwell. Without even looking back, the two of them bolted from the basement, back up to the alleyway above. The van was long gone. They didn’t stop, their legs taking them to the bikes they’d stashed earlier. There was no use in taking the firetruck now; it wasn’t fast enough to outrun the cops. Gavin slung his duffle over his shoulder and started his bike at the same time as Michael and they pealed out of the alley simultaneously. They’d managed to escape by the skin of their teeth.

Except they hadn’t, not really; ahead of them, just a few blocks down the street, three large black SUVs blocked their path with a dozen or so armed men standing nearby on the sidewalk. These weren’t police either, their plain white t-shirts and matching jackets practically giving them away as another gang. Michael signaled Gavin to turn around so they could avoid them but when they did, several more SUVs were already racing down the road towards them.

Their escape was blocked.

They were fucked, Michael knew. The two of them against who knew how many of these new guys? The odds were definitely stacked against them. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t go down fighting but god, it was really going to suck.

“We’ve hit a bit of a snag, boys,” Gavin called over the comms. “Might be a bit late to the safehouse.”

Geoff instantly answered, voice cracking. “ _What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?_ ”

“He means we got caught between a rock and a hard place, and by rock I mean some fucking other crew and by hard place I mean even more of that crew.” Michael answered.

“ _Shit._ ”

Gavin whipped his bike around to race down an alley he knew was a dead end – he wanted something solid between him and this new enemy. “An apt response, Geoffrey.”

“We’re on 6th, right by the movie theater,” Michael said as he followed Gavin. “Taking cover in a walled alley nearby. We’ll keep you updated.”

“ _You idiots better hold it down till we can get there!_ _Ryan and Alfredo,_ _how far are you?_ ”

“ _Already turned around, headed back._ ”

As soon as he reached the end of the alley, Gavin flung himself off his bike and behind a dumpster, Michael right behind him. Bullets pinged off of their vehicles and the brick walls around them, the dumpster taking most of it. They each pulled out their guns but it only made them feel marginally better; all they had were pistols, no automatic rifles or explosives, just a few clips of armor-piercing rounds between the two of them and their skill as marksmen. It wasn’t enough, couldn’t possibly be enough.

“Michael, I have an idea,” Gavin said in Michael’s ear. “I saw a door on the opposite side of the alley, ‘bout halfway back. It’s gotta go into the building, yeah? I think I can make a run for it.”

“Gav, no, there’s too many guys out there! You’ll get shot down before you even reach the other side!”

Gavin stared at Michael with calm resignation in his eyes. “If I can get the door open, that’ll give you the chance to run through and get out of here. I have to try.”

“Shit, Gav, no-” The words were barely out of Michael’s mouth before Gavin had leapt from behind their hiding spot already shooting his own weapon. His heart rammed itself against his ribs as he heard the gunfire increase. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fu-_

There was a sharp grunt over the comms followed by the nearby sound of something falling heavily. Ragged breathing echoed in Michael’s earpiece. Time stopped. Michael blinked once, twice, three times before anything fully registered; the gunfire had momentarily stopped. Finally, he glanced around the side of the dumpster.

“GAVIN!” The scream ripped from his throat at the sight of his best friend crumpled on the ground, hand outstretched and gun lying next to him, blood slowly pooling underneath his leg. He was two feet from the door.

A small voice answered, only barely picked up by the comm. “’m all good, boy, it’s jus’ my leg. Think they assume I’m down for good?”

“I’ll get you, Gav.”

“ _What the hell happened?_ ” Jack’s voice.

“Gav got hit, I’m gonna get him.”

More choked breathing. “No, Michael, you’ll just get shot too. I was enough of an idiot.”

“Shut the fuck up, I’m coming out!”

“ _Michael, don’t-_ ” Michael ignored the rest of Jack’s sentence and instead jumped out and started running towards Gavin.

He barely made it two steps before the other gang started firing again. With practiced speed and efficiency, Michael shot down several of their members and managed to avoid their bullets. The panicked voices of the other Fakes faded in and out in his mind but he was singularly focused on getting to Gavin. It was a testament to his abilities that he didn’t get shot once, not even when he succeeded in reaching his fellow lad and crouched next to him. He continued to shoot with one hand as he blindly grabbed for Gavin’s wrist with the other.

“The door, Michael.”

Michael glanced to his side; the door was so close he could almost touch it. If he could help Gavin up and get them both over to it, they might just make it. Like Gavin said before, they had to at least try – there weren’t really any other options at that point.

With a hard pull, he got Gavin into a crouch next to him. The Brit’s wounded leg couldn’t support his weight and he needed a lot of help, so he leaned heavily on Michael. It was hard for Michael to continue to shoot while moving them over to the door but he knew that if he didn’t, they were dead. It felt like it took forever, the door a million miles away instead of just a couple feet. And then they reached it and Gavin stuck his hand out to tug on the handle and -

It didn’t budge.

The door was locked.

There was nowhere for them to go.

Several things then happened in rapid succession: Gavin collapsed to the ground, Michael ran out of bullets, and six or seven huge men started running down the alley towards them. Michael turned to look at Gavin, who stared back with fear in his eyes. There was the overwhelming feeling of something right behind them and Gavin had just enough time to shout Michael’s name before there was a hot burning point on his temple – the barrel of a freshly fired gun. Another one quickly found itself against Gavin’s head and the two lads froze.

“Move one single inch and I blow the pretty boy’s brains out.” The voice was scratchy. Michael didn’t recognize it.

“Don’t fucking touch him,” he spat.

“ _Michael, what’s going on?_ ”

Out of the corner of his eye, Michael saw the sneering face of a man wearing a loose leather jacket and several gaudy chains around his neck. “You’re not in a position to demand anything.”

“ _Seriously guys, what the hell is happening? Who’s with you?_ ”

“Hurt him and you’re dead, fuck face!”

Pain burst behind his eyes as Michael was pistol whipped. The gang member holding the gun to his head grabbed his hair and pulled him back up to stare at Gavin again, who’s brow was heavily sweating, blood still staining his pant leg.

“I will repeat, you are not the one in charge here, Jones.” The man he still couldn’t see laughed at Michael’s change in demeanor in response to his name. “Yeah, that’s right, we know who you are; heard a couple of your Fake buddies were making some noise out at the prison, figured you were up to something. And boy, were we right! Mogar and the Golden Boy in one go, we really lucked out this time.”

“I’m gonna kill y-”

With a sickening thud, the man holding the gun to Gavin’s head kicked him hard in the stomach, sending the lad fully onto the ground. Michael pulled against the man holding his hair till his eyes started to water, breath coming out between clenched teeth. When he tried to move towards the other lad, he was hit again with the gun. Gavin was roughly pulled back into a sitting position.

“No more outbursts, got it? Or else the skinny one gets it.”

“ _Alfredo and I are_ _a couple minutes out! Hold on till then!”_

Michael didn’t let his gaze stray from Gavin, his mind only partially registering Ryan’s voice coming from his comm. “What do you want.”

“You’re gonna come home with us and we’re gonna have a chat, I think.” The man laughed again. “What do you think your lives are worth?”

“ _Shit fuck shit shit shit-_ ” Geoff sounded panicked.

Gavin stared right back at Michael and gave him a tiny shake of the head. “We’re not giving you anything.” The Brit spat.

Another kick and Gavin stayed down this time, violent coughs shaking his body. Michael growled and again tried to move towards him but this time his arms were pulled painfully behind his back. He helplessly watched as Gavin’s wrists and ankles were taped together and he was forcefully pulled out of the alley. His vision narrowed in on the sight of his best friend being shut into the back of one of the SUVs, body weakly struggling against their hold.

“ _One minute out, what’s happening?_ ”

Michael valiantly tried to break free of the hold he was being kept in but to no avail. “They have Gav, they got him and they’re taking him away from me! They’re-” A swift kick to his side shut him up.

“ _Fuck!_ ”

Cold terror pulsated in his chest as he watched the SUV carrying Gavin drive away. When the others began to drag him out of the alley as well, that feeling grew and grew the closer he got to another one of their cars. Voices called in his earpiece that they were thirty seconds away but the fear still remained. He could feel his anger rising too, that familiar heat radiating throughout his limbs, fueling his struggle against his captors. There were too many of them now though, too many of them for Michael to handle and he knew that. But he never went down without a fight, that was his legacy – _Mogar’s_ legacy. He was the Wolf of Los Santos, god dammit!

And yet, with what seemed like little effort, he was still shoved into a car, his limbs taped up like Gavin’s and rendered useless. He screamed profanities and didn’t stop raging against his confinements but it didn’t matter, had never really had a snowball’s chance in hell of getting him out. Michael had lost.

Panicking, he began to say aloud anything he could to describe the men taking him and Gavin to his crew on the other side of the comms. “Black leather jackets with a daisy, gold chains, black S-”

A large hand grabbed his jaw and turned his head so the ear with the comm was up. “I’ll be taking this,” a voice said as the small device was ripped out. The last thing Michael heard was Ryan’s voice calling his name.

With a crunch, the hand holding the comm reared back and smashed it into the side of Michael’s head and he knew no more.

……………………………...

“Michael!” Ryan screamed, desperately trying to get the lad to answer but his comm remained silent in response. “Shit shit shit _shit_ -”

Alfredo kept his eyes on the road while Ryan pushed the van to its limit. They passed car after car, weaving in and out of downtown traffic to get to Michael and Gavin’s last known location. Mere seconds had gone by since Michael had last spoke to them but the feeling of dread saturated the vehicle, thick and suffocating. Ryan kept yelling for Michael but Alfredo held his breath, stomach churning; how could things have gone so wrong so fast?

It was easy to see which alleyway Michael had described – shattered glass and bullet casings littered the ground at its mouth. Whatever pedestrians had been around before had long since scattered. Ryan slammed the van in park and jumped out, running down to the end of the alley, calling for the lads. Alfredo held his rifle in his hands tightly and scanned the area with his eyes, nose filled with the scent of burnt rubber and gun smoke. When he heard swearing behind him, he turned to see Ryan crouching near a small pool of blood. Both sets of eyes followed the smeared trail of crimson till it ended next to the curb.

“They took them,” Ryan ground out in a rough voice. “Probably had cars waiting.”

“Do you think we-?”

Eyes closed behind his mask, Ryan stood up slowly, his hands balled into fists. “Yeah, we likely drove right by them on our way here.”

“ _What did you find?_ ” Geoff asked in his ear.

“We didn’t get here in time.” Alfredo responded, his eyes still locked on Ryan.

There was silence on the other end of the line for several long moments. When he finally spoke again, Geoff’s voice sounded rougher than usual. “ _Ok. Alright._ _L_ _et’s, uh, let’s meet back at the penthouse and –_ _and_ _work out our next steps._ ”

Ryan let out a guttural yell, swinging his foot to kick a dumpster with all his strength, smashing a dent into its surface. Knowing his crew mate was in no position to respond, Alfredo took the lead.

“We’ll be there shortly,” he told Geoff.

But Ryan wasn’t done yet; he kicked the metal box again, this time with more force. He ripped off his mask and threw it on the ground, hands making their way up to pull harshly at his hair.

“Why the fuck did I just _leave them_?!” he roared. “What the fuck was I thinking?!”

Alfredo walked calmly over to pick up the discarded skull. “Ryan-”

“I fucked up, I really fucked up.”

 _BANG_. Another kick to the dumpster. The dent was getting quite sizable.

“Ryan, seriously, beating the shit outta that thing isn’t going to help us get them back! We need to go back and regroup with Jack and Geoff.”

Fire burned in Ryan’s eyes when he looked up at him but Alfredo stood his ground. After a couple deep breaths, his rage seemed to fizzle out and his shoulders dropped. He let out a soft _you’re right_ and started walking back to the van. The two of them didn’t bother buckling in before Ryan started the engine and they were off. The stench of desperation was back but this time it was stained by fear, ugly and overwhelming.

“I’m going to kill them,” Ryan whispered. “I’m going to kill every last person involved.”

Alfredo grimaced. “You and me both.”


	2. A Seat Just For You

Michael woke up to screaming.

At first, he thought maybe _he_ was screaming but it was coming from what sounded like far away. No, not far away, behind a wall? Walls? He couldn’t even open his eyes to check and his head pounded so painfully that he thought he might throw up. Was he in a room? In a house? A large building? He was definitely tied to a chair, arms bound tightly behind him. His shoulders ached along with his skull.

It felt like ages until he could open his eyes but when he did, all he could see was a filthy wall with peeling blue wallpaper and a small square window looking out into what could only be described as _forest –_ trees and trees and even more trees, as far as the limited view could show. He couldn’t tell if there was a door behind him and when he tried to rock his chair to maybe tip it over, Michael found that the legs of it were bolted to the floor.

Another ragged scream came from several walls over, this one drawn out and angular. Angular? Wait. No. That was a word, a word in a voice he knew, very well – a name.

“ _MIIICHAAAAEEL!_ ”

Gavin.

Fear like he had never know pierced through his very soul and Michael really did throw up this time. Bile spilled out onto his lap and the floor, its acrid scent filling the room. He didn’t have the energy to feel disgusted.

“Gavin!!” He yelled back as loud as he could, hoping upon hope that the other lad could somehow hear him. “Gavin, I’m here!”

There was a short pause before Gavin screamed again, this time with more agony than before. No words, just pain. Michael heard his name again soon after and it sounded like a plea. It roughly cut off and then there was silence, sick and heady. He couldn’t hear even the smallest of noises, his ears ringing with rage he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Even his guts burned, his skin along with them; he itched everywhere.

Michael screamed and cried and yelled till his voice was hoarse but no one came. Hours and hours of ripping his vocal cords to pieces with no response given, not even more screaming from Gavin. He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or scared; had they just decided to stop or was Gavin hurt so much he couldn’t make noise? Or was he -

No, he couldn’t think like that; he _would_ get Gavin out of there, alive. There was no other option for him.

Hours later, long after the light had faded from outside and he was left in darkness, the sound of a door being unlocked behind him reached Michael’s ears – someone was finally visiting him. He tried to turn and see who it was but the bindings around his arms and body prevented him from moving much at all. This didn’t stop him from trying though.

“What have you done to him?” he growled roughly.

“Nothing much yet,” came the cool reply. “Haven’t really got a plan, think I might just wing it, really.”

Michael had heard that voice before, in the alley where they were captured; it was a low tenor, calm and slightly raspy. He heard no obvious accent or specific speech patterns, just some average guy with a blasé attitude towards kidnapping and torture.

“Are you in charge?”

A small chuckle. “Not really? Well, maybe a bit – this was my idea after all – but it’s all been kind of a team effort, hasn’t it? Speaking of which, I’d like to thank you for making my job a hell of a lot easier yesterday; that was one of the most effortless nab jobs I’ve ever been a part of!”

“Fuck off.”

“I heard you had quite the temper, Michael Jones, glad I could experience it in person. You’re not so intimidating when you’re tied to a chair though, I’ll have to say.”

Michael wanted to ring this man’s neck and he didn’t even know what he looked like. “Look me in the eyes and say that, you piece of shit.”

“Nah, don’t think I will, you’ll be fine.” There was a shifting sound, like the man was moving closer. “But I can’t say the same thing for the Golden Boy.”

There was red in his vision when Michael yelled back. “Keep your fucking hands off of him!”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you to not show your hand so soon? We kinda figured you two were attached to each other but this is just peachy! How quick do you think he’ll break, hmm? What’s his limit?” The voice came out right by his ear, sending shivers down Michael’s spine. “How many times will I have to drag my knife over his skin till he cracks? Or, better yet, how much do I have to do to him to get _you_ to talk, hmm? It’s been fun so far listening to you try to comfort him. He can’t hear you, you know; he’s been a bit preoccupied.”

Michael could feel tears start to for at the corners of his eyes but he refused to acknowledge them. “He’s not gonna say _anything_.”

“It’s only a matter of time, you know. Clearly he can handle physical violence better than his stature would suggest. But people always break, in the end; they can’t help it.” There was a low chuckle. “Did you know he’s got a scar on his left side, just a little bit above his hip bone? We cut it out. And that string of freckles along his right thigh? Burned ‘em.”

“ _Stop_ ,” Michael choked out.

“That’s what he kept saying while we were testing out our new steel-toed boots! And when we gave him some lovely _new_ scars. And in between dunk tank sessions.”

“ _STOP!_ ”

A sharp pain erupted from the back of Michael’s skull as his hair was once again yanked and his head pulled backward.

“Yeah, exactly like that.” His captor’s breath smelled like mint toothpaste. “Only, there was a little more blood on his teeth.”

Michael still couldn’t see the face of the man talking to him, just the cobweb-covered ceiling. Hot breath radiated down the skin of his face. Something slithered in his gut and he wished he could just shut his ears off so he didn’t have to listen to anything this man had to say. He knew Gavin was tough to crack, that he could withstand a lot before he broke; he’d seen his fellow lad face down death itself and given it a cheeky smirk. He wasn’t worried about Gavin saying anything. But the screaming – god, the screaming – Michael couldn’t stand to hear it.

“What do you want.”

There was a smile in the man’s voice as he answered. “Who knows! I think I’ll start with where you stash your hauls, maybe look into tapping into your private funds? Or – and bear with me here – I personally feel like it would be very nice to have those city contacts your boss does? It would make my life ten times better to have a list of higher ups that don’t mind working with criminals, you know?”

“I-” Michael was cut off by a firm hand gripping his jaw and shaking.

“That’s enough for now, Mr. Jones. I’ll be around when I feel like you’re more willing to talk. Just know that the more of my time you waste, the more I get to play with your little Golden Boy. And he bleeds so _pretty_.”

Michael’s stomach roiled at the implications of those words, knowing the threat for what it was. He tried to hide his anxiety with his usual snarkiness but knew he wasn’t fooling anyone. “Don’t you think it’s a bit rude to not introduce yourself?”

Another laugh, this one twisted with something sinister. “You can call me Marco, I suppose, since we’re about to play a really wonderful game.”

The door shut with a click and Michael heard the deadbolt being slid into place, and with it came the overwhelming feeling of absolute dread. Hot tears dripped unhindered down his face and on to his vomit covered lap. It felt like chunks of cold iron were being stacked inside his lungs while at the same time water was boiling in his stomach. Even his shoulders shook with the fear. The memory of Gavin’s face as he was being pulled away down the alley kept finding itself behind his eyelids whenever he blinked and combined with the echoes of his screams to haunt his every thought.

When the screaming started up again a few hours later, this time closer than before, Michael continued to sob, guilt wracking his whole body like a physical force.

……………………..

“Alright, what do we know?”

Geoff’s voice was all business as he spoke to his remaining crew. He had to be, had to keep up the image of strength and confidence the others needed. He stood up straight, kept his voice steady, and calmly worked through what little information they had on Gavin and Michael’s kidnapping. But on the inside he was collapsing, only Jack knowing about his current mental state – he trusted her with his emotions more than he trusted himself. Her presence was the only thing keeping him together.

Because Gavin was as close to a son to Geoff as you could get without the blood; he loved that kid so fucking much and would do anything to keep him safe. He’d storm whole army bases by himself if he had to. And he cared deeply for Michael too, like he cared for all of his crew, because they were a family. It caused him physical pain to know that he hadn’t been careful enough to prevent something like this from happening.

Alfredo was the first to speak up. “Michael said something about black leather jackets with a daisy insignia on them.I tried looking it up but as far as the internet is concerned, that’s not a gang sign for any of the crews in Los Santos.”

“Ok, that’s still a start. I’ll call around to some of our city contacts, see if anyone recognizes that symbol. Anything else?”

“Based on what Michael was saying, I think they took them in separate vehicles.” Ryan’s throat was tight. _They got him and they’re taking him away from me!_ “He didn’t have a chance to say what kind though and we don’t have any evidence from the scene to give any hints.”

“And what do we know about Gav’s, uh, condition?”

The room was silent for a few moments before Alfredo finally spoke. “It didn’t look like there was enough blood to be a huge problem. And he was still talking afterward, so...”

“Right, ok.” Geoff had his eyes tightly closed while he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m gonna go see if I can find anything on Gav’s computers. The rest of you can keep trying to find anything about this new gang, maybe track down some witnesses.”

The four of them went their separate ways – Geoff to Gavin’s workroom, Jack to the main office, and Ryan and Alfredo to their rooms to do their own research. Everyone had their own unique ways of finding information that was otherwise hidden, so it was just a matter of time before someone’s contacts knew _something_. At least, Geoff really hoped so.

Gavin’s tech room was a mess, notebooks and cups and random shit spread out all over. How he worked amidst all the chaos would forever be a mystery to Geoff. There were several dead plants still in their pots lined up along the windowsill but the blinds were shut tight. The only clean part about the room was how meticulous Gavin had been in laying out all of the wires that plugged into his computers and servers; they were organized, color-coded, labeled, and in perfect order. It was straight out of a tech nerd’s wet dream.

On the back of the desk chair, a ratty old quilt was draped, halfway falling off. With reverent hands, Geoff shifted it back into a safer position. Jack had made Gavin that quilt when they’d first brought him into their little crime family, back when they had just started being able to rent a real apartment together; she’d worked odd jobs for weeks to afford the fabric and had begged the old woman who lived next door to them to use her sewing machine. It was messy, uneven, and the one material possession in the world that Gavin would never leave behind. Even just looking at it made Geoff’s chest constrict.

“Keep it together, Ramsey,” he muttered to himself as he sat down at the desk.

The thing about Gavin was that even though he goofed off constantly and could be a real pain in the ass, he was really, _really_ smart, deadly clever in the worst kind of ways. He was a genius when it came to security technology and computers in general, and probably one of the best minds the Fakes had on their team. He hid it behind a mask of flippant joy and mischievousness but that spark was always present.

Nowhere was it more evident than his computers; Gavin had installed and created so many unique protocols and systems that it was nigh impossible to just log into his main desktop. It took Geoff an hour to figure out the first password (the name of his alias for his very first heist) and another hour and a half to get the second (the VIN of his old purple Blista) and that only got him to a blank desktop. There was no way that Geoff was going to be able to gain access to any of the useful programs on there, not if he wanted to in the next century.

In the end, he called Ryan in; of the six in the crew, he was the next best at anything close to hacking. If Geoff remembered correctly, he was pretty sure the other gent had been studying to become a computer engineer before all of the Vagabond shit started. No one else stood a chance at cracking Gavin’s codes.

“You did good, Geoff,” Ryan said, placing a comforting hand on Geoff’s shoulder.

The older man grumbled under his breath. “Yeah, well, I didn’t get very far.”

“You didn’t get locked out, so that’s better than almost every other person out there.”

“Right, uh, so I’m gonna go make some calls. Keep me updated.”

And then it was just a matter of letting Ryan do his work. Which, granted, also took a lot longer than any of them wanted but eventually, with a lot of swearing and a small run of freakishly good luck, he was able to gain access to Gavin’s city-wide CCTV tap. The lad was obsessive about this particular aspect of his hacking abilities, taking extra care to keep things updated and under the radar. It was thorough and well-distributed through Los Santos, making it an invaluable asset to every single one of their heists and crew activities. It was the best logical place to start.

The problem was, every time Ryan found a clip from the areas around the scene of the kidnapping, someone in a black leather jacket was there, smiling at the camera as they shot it out. There was no recorded evidence of what kinds of cars they drove or what direction they had gone. Not a lot to go on, really. It did give them a better view of the little daisy emblem though, which was a little helpful at least, as long as they could get some actual information on what it meant.

Which was actually turning out to be the most frustrating part because as time went on, more and more contacts were coming back with a negative on whether or not they recognized the daisy symbol. Days went by with nothing to show for it. Gavin’s fancy computer with its predictive software couldn’t do any useful work figuring out the direction the gang went if they weren’t given anything to catch a trail with. Even Burnie, connected as he was to the city’s innermost criminal investigation units, had never seen a daisy like that be used in association with a gang. It remained a mystery and the remaining Fakes grew angrier and angrier every day, reminding them that they weren’t as powerful as they usually believed.

But that didn’t stop them from trying everything anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting there, folks! Prepare for some fuckin' ANGST, bay-BEEE


	3. A Lucky Chain Of Events

It was the not knowing that really got to Michael.

They moved Gavin every couple days, sometimes further away, sometimes a room just a few doors down. There was no way to know exactly what they were doing to him except that it was awful. He was alive though, his screams proved that, but Michael was losing control; every fiber of his being cried out to get to Gavin, to somehow break free and find him, save him. Each scream was like a knife in his chest and a reminder that he was failing the one person who meant the most to him. He tried to provide comfort somehow, tried to yell and tell him he was there, that he would come for him, but he knew those words were empty.

When he was close, Gavin would call his name. This cut deep into Michael’s soul and he knew that he would eventually crack; he couldn’t go much longer while hearing them hurt his friend – his _brother_ – like that. Being stuck in that room was, by far, the worst pain he had every experienced in his entire life. It was a kind of torture he wouldn’t wish on anyone. Well, except Marco; that motherfucker deserved every evil he produced shoved back onto him tenfold.

Sometimes people would come into his room and demand Michael tell them who the Fake’s contacts in the city were; they would rough him up a little bit – nothing he couldn’t just shake off – and threaten him with more violence but he didn’t break that easy. Except it got harder and harder to keep spitting back vitriol and sass instead of spilling crew secrets when his interrogators told him what they planned on doing to Gavin because Michael wouldn’t tell them the things they wanted to know. The knowledge that his refusal to give them what they wanted was directly hurting Gavin made him even more sick to his stomach. But Gavin would _never_ betray Geoff like that and Michael knew that if he allowed himself to be weak, the other lad would never forgive him. He had to tell himself this over and over every night so that he was prepared for these visits.

Michael tracked the days by the movement of the sun outside his singular window, watching the angle of the light change between the rare moments in which he fitfully slept. His shoulders ached something awful, his fingers constantly on the edge between tingling and numb. Every so often, someone would come in and pour a small amount of water into his mouth, or several of them would manhandle him over to the bucket in the corner that they only changed out every few days where he was forced to relieve himself in front of them. The little room – because how big could it really be with how it echoed and how the stench of everything filled it so easily? - reeked of stale vomit and urine. If they’d ever bothered to have fed him, Michael was sure he’d just throw it all back up anyway.

Marco never showed back up but Michael could hear his voice sometimes, either outside of his door or nearby, often followed by laughter. There was no doubt in Michael’s mind that it was also his voice that he heard gleefully shouting at Gavin between screams. With very passing moment, Michael’s utter hatred for the unknown freak grew and festered in the pit of his stomach. He knew that when the time came and he was given the chance, he would happily end that man’s life in as graphic a way as he could.

In the meantime though, Michael’s throat got more and more sore, his voice hoarse from yelling to Gavin. How the other lad had any sound left in him was a terrible mystery. Michael’s imagination cycled through horrific images of what might be happening to Gavin and desperate ideas on how to escape. His dreams were filled with nightmarish shadowy figures and more screams. It was never ending and atrocious and it was killing him slowly.

……………………….

A week in and the penthouse was an absolute disaster. The kitchen was full of dirty dishes, empty take out boxes littered the living room, and coats and jackets lay strewn about the whole place, nobody bothering to put anything away. Instead of the nightly group dinners and movie nights and video game tournaments, there were exhausted bodies wandering in and out during all hours of the day and night, zombies just going through the motions while they also did everything they could to track down their missing crew mates.

Geoff and Jack remained in their room and Geoff’s office mostly, contacting everyone they possibly could in hopes that some new information would pop up. Alfredo spent most of his time out on the streets, keeping watch for even the slightest hint of that daisy emblem. And Ryan – Ryan became a permanent fixture in Gavin’s office, working his way through all of the lad’s tech to try and track them down. They were all doing their best but it never really felt like it was enough.

Burnie and the rest of the Roosters hadn’t been much help in the end, their connections overlapping with those of the Fakes so much that there wasn’t much else they could provide. They kept their lines out though, assuring Geoff that he would be the first to know if some new information came up.

And then Alfredo hit a stroke of luck; by an off chance, he’d run into a former coworker while out collecting information. They’d worked together back when Alfredo was only dabbling with advanced weapons, shooting in his spare time at a local range. The two of them had bonded over a shared interest in the mechanics of firearms – how they functioned, how they were put together, how they could be improved. It had been about three years since they’d last interacted and Alfredo thought his old friend still lived two states away.

So it was a shock to see him again, in Los Santos of all places, and not just in passing or happening upon each other in a coffee shop or something, no – Alfredo literally stumbled into him while trying to stealthily cross a rooftop in the middle of the night, almost knocking both of them over.

“What the – _Trevor?!_ ”

The tall man in front of him brushed off the front of his hoodie and his wide smile could just be seen in the light from the streets below. “Fredo! Fancy seeing you here!”

“What the hell are you doing on the roof?”

“Well, you see, I’m trying to hide.” Trevor’s cheerful face never faltered. He stuck out a gloved hand. “And really, I could be asking you the same question.”

Alfredo shook the offered hand with a bewildered look. “Uh, yeah, I’m just doing some, uh, research?”

“Right on, sounds great!”

“What’re you – what’re you hiding from?”

Trevor just continued to smile. “Oh, you know, the usual.”

Alfredo did not, in fact, know. It was then that he finally took notice of the clothes Trevor was wearing – all black, hooded, and strapped with various tools and weapons. A pair of night vision goggles were hanging around his neck, most likely knocked off his face when they’d collided. The last time Alfredo had seen him, Trevor had been wearing nice jeans and a button down.

“Listen, I’d love to catch up and all but I really must be going now,” Trevor said, pulling the goggles back onto his face. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small white card with a question mark on one side and handed it to Alfredo, who took it with a curious stare. “Give me a call if you’re ever on the roofs again; seems like we’ve still got a bunch in common!”

Alfredo looked down at himself and was reminded that he was still holding his sniper rifle and also decked out in stealth gear. When he looked up again to reply (what he was going to say even he didn’t know) Trevor was already gone, no trace left behind but the card in Alfredo’s palm.

“ _What the fuck..._ ”

And that was how the Fakes came to have the number of one Trevor Collins, former aerospace engineer turned serial jewelry thief extraordinaire.

Geoff was wary at first but Alfredo convinced him easily enough to invite Trevor to one of their lower-profile meeting spaces. The gent was definitely curious about the man but circumstances warranted extreme caution when it came to new people. As it turned out, Trevor was well aware of who they were – of who _Alfredo_ was in conjunction with them – and was totally willing to meet up. It didn’t take Geoff long to agree that he could be an asset to their team and that they would keep in contact for future jobs.

“Well that went much smoother than I though it would,” Trevor commented to Alfredo as they walked away from the meeting building. “Figured I’d have to butter up to him a bit more.”  
Alfredo shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, well, I told him you were cool.”

“Freydie, how kind of you!”

“Shut up. Just don’t make me regret vouching for you.”

Trevor stopped and grabbed Alfredo’s shoulder. “Seriously though, thanks; running solo heists is fun and all but I’m really looking forward to the challenge of bigger and better things.”

Alfredo shrugged. “We can always use more allies.”

“Speaking of-” Trevor paused, a concerned crease between his eyebrows. “I know I don’t really know your boss and I haven’t seen you in years but is something up? You guys seem really tense. Is there something I should be worried about?”

For a moment, Alfredo contemplated not saying anything; Trevor was right, they hadn’t been in contact for ages and there were clearly things they needed to discuss. But the whole Gavin and Michael thing was really starting to get to him and he was tired of feeling useless. There was always the chance that Trevor knew something that could help and the only way to find out was to trust him.

“Two of our own got ambushed and kidnapped by some new gang. Haven’t heard from them in ten days.”

Trevor’s face went through several visible emotions – surprise, concern, anger, determination. He set his shoulders back. “I can see how that would put you on edge. What do you have to go on? Is that what you were doing on the roof the other night?”

“Yeah,” Alfredo nodded. “I’ve been trying to catch them out and about but I haven’t seen any evidence of this gang outside of the CCTV footage we have of them shooting out the cameras.”

“How would you know it was them?”

“Daisy emblem, usually on a black jacket.”

There was a long pause while Trevor stood and stared at Alfredo, mouth slightly agape. “The _Chain_ took your guys?!”

“What?” Alfredo’s heartbeat picked up at the possibility of new information.

“The Chain! Smallish gang from up north! I stole some shit for them a couple months ago but they never paid me!”

This was it, this was the moment Alfredo had been waiting for: finally, some actual information. “Holy shit. _Holy shit!_ Trevor, you have no idea – you have no idea what you’ve just done!”

Trevor looked very concerned at Alfredo’s almost manic tone. “Wha-?”

“You’re the first person to know _anything_ about these people,” Alfredo gushed as he grabbed Trevor by the forearm and started practically dragging him back into the building they’d just left. “You’re gonna tell Geoff _everything_ you know about them. He’s probably gonna put you in the crew permanently now. _Holy shit,_ _dude_ _!_ ”

Without preamble, Alfredo slammed open the door into Geoff’s makeshift office and stormed himself and Trevor inside. The older man looked up from his phone, angry shout already on his lips, when the look on Alfredo’s face stopped him.

“What’s going on?” he asked in earnest instead of yelling at them for interrupting him.

“Trevor knows who they are, Geoff, he knows the daisy gang.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TREVOR WITH THE ASSIST!
> 
> Let's get down to the nitty-gritty, shall we?
> 
> [Come holla at ya boi](http://toasterness.tumblr.com).


	4. New Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very short chapter but I couldn't find a better place to stop so this is what we got! Next chapter will be longer!

Michael was jolted awake by a moan coming from the room right next to his. This one was quieter than any of the previous ones and Michael wasn’t even sure if it was Gavin; they’d never brought him this close before.

“Gav?” He croaked out.

There was a short hiccuping sob.

“Gavin, is that you?”

This time the sobbing formed words, words that felt as if they were being spoken directly into Michael’s very core. “It hurts, Michael.”

 _Fuck._ “I know, boy, I know, but you gotta hold on a little longer, ok? I’m gonna get us outta here, both of us, you got that?”

“How?”

Michael could feel tears rolling down his cheeks again. He’d been doing more crying those past few days than he’d done in his whole life. “I don’t – I don’t know yet. But I’ll figure something out, you know I will. I always take care of my boy.”

“He keeps saying they’re hurting you too.” God, he sounded so broken.

“I’m fine, I’ve been punched harder by high schoolers. I’m ok, Gav, really.”

“They want-” Gavin was silent for several agonizingly long seconds and when he finally continued, his voice was almost clear of the tearful trembling from before. “They want Geoff’s contacts. I haven’t told them anything, Michael, I swear.”

“Jesus Gav, I know you wouldn’t, never thought for a second you had.”

A heavy sniff. “They think I will.”

“They don’t know shit about you.”

Michael’s heart ached and ached and ached at the sound of Gavin’s voice. He longed to take his place, to bare the pain and torture so that Gavin didn’t have to. The other man was strong – you had to be in their line of work – but Michael was more used to taking beatings. Or maybe it was just him being selfish; it was more painful to listen to those screams than any gunshot, stab wound, or broken bone he’d ever experienced.

He was about to say more in an attempt at comfort but there was the sound of footsteps out in the hallway coming closer. Maybe two sets? And then voices talking lowly right outside the door. Definitely two voices, and they were arguing. Michael held his breath.

“-and he says to just leave him.”

“Yeah, well, _Marco_ wouldn’t be too happy if the guy dropped dead from an infection, now would he?”

The first man scoffed. “He’s being tortured anyway, what’s the problem?”

“The problem, you idiot, is that he still hasn’t given us any information and the other one hasn’t cracked yet either.” The second man sounded exasperated, his slight accent on the edge of familiar to Michael. “I’m gonna go in there and fix ‘im up so we still have a chance to get that information. Tattle all you want but I’m doing it, so just fuck off.”

“Whatever man, do what you want.” A single set of footsteps got quieter as the first man walked away.

There was the sound of a key being turned in a lock and Michael heard Gavin’s breath hitch loudly.

“Please,” Gavin begged. “Please leave me alone.”

“I’m not gonna – listen, I’m not gonna hurt you, alright? I’m here to get that bullet out of your leg and-”

“Don’t you fucking put a hand on him,” Michael rumbled, straining fruitlessly at the ropes holding him.

Something heavy and full of clinking metal hit the floor in Gavin’s room. “Would you give it a rest? I’m trying to help your friend.”

Michael actually laughed at that. “Sure, and I’m the fucking pope.”

The mystery man lightly banged what was presumably his fist against the wall between the rooms and despite his outward bravado, Michael flinched. “Shut the fuck up so you don’t alert the rest of the god damn hideout, ok? Your friend here still has a bullet in his leg and if it doesn’t get taken out, that infection is just going to get worse.”

Wait, what?

“Infection?”

“Whole leg’s gone gammy,” came Gavin’s soft reply. The fight seemed to have left him.

“I have to get it done quick because I don’t know when the boss man’s coming back.”

Michael paused to think. He wanted – no, _needed –_ to trust this man, at least for now, no matter how little he actually did; Gavin clearly needed help and it wasn’t coming from any other source. But he wouldn’t agree to it if his boy didn’t want it.

“Gav?”

He heard bodies shifting in the other room. “He’s just gonna do it anyway. Better to cooperate, innit?”

“Hurt him and I’ll kill you.” Michael threatened knowing full well it was empty.

This time it was the other man who let out a dark laugh. “Won’t be able to do this without causing any pain but alright.”

The next few minutes were agony for Michael; he struggled with not being able to see anything and to only be able to hear Gavin’s very quiet whimpers as the man in his room used whatever tools he had to dig into his leg to find the old bullet. Logically, he knew that this was better than letting the bullet fester in the wound any longer but hell, Gavin must have been suffering greatly. Michael was impressed at how soundless the Brit was being despite the situation. He hoped that it was almost over.

“There, got it.” More metal clinking followed the sound of the man standing up and moving around the room. “Here, I’m gonna open this protein shake and I need you to chug it, ok? Water afterward.”

“Gav, don’t drink anything he gives you.”

“Relax man, it’s still sealed, he’s watching me open it.”

Thirty seconds passed before Gavin spoke. “Thank you.”

“You really shouldn’t.”

Michael squirmed in his seat. “If you’re so hell bent on helping us, why not just let us go?”

“Do you really think it would be that easy? If you do, then they really must have hit you on the head too hard.” It was clear by the noise that the man was cleaning up his supplies. “There’s no way I could get the both of you out safely, not without outside help and when I’m already being watched when I leave the house.”

Now that really confused Michael; what kind of man would purposefully help his gang’s prisoners and also allow himself to be stalked by that same crew when he wasn’t around?

The next time the man spoke, Michael found it hard to hear – he was most likely talking only to Gavin, face turned away from the wall. “I have to go, ok? I’ve washed it as best I could but I can’t bandage it or Marco’ll see. I’m gonna try to come by as much as I can to keep it clean. Can’t guarantee anything though.”

“Alright,” Gavin said.

“I’m locking the door behind me; there’s already too much evidence that I was here and I really can’t afford any more risks.” The door to Gavin’s room opened and shut and the deadbolt was flipped.

A couple seconds later, Michael heard his own door unlock and someone step in. A bottled protein shake was thrust into his vision and he watched as it was opened. It made the tell-tale cracking sound of a seal being broken and Michael couldn’t help himself; he tilted his head back and opened his mouth. It took just a few huge gulps for him to finish the whole thing. He could feel it settle heavily in his stomach and he hoped he managed to keep it all down long enough to digest. A fresh bottle of water followed and it too sloshed in his belly. It was cool and refreshing and more water in one go than he’d had since being captured.

“Who are you?”

The empty bottles were tucked away and out of sight. “Just somebody who involved himself in something way out of his league and got stuck.”

Out of sight, the door was shut and locked again. Michael heard the man’s footsteps head back down what he assumed was a hallway.

“You alright, boy?”

Through the wall, Gavin’s voice sounded extra strained. “Never better.”

“How’s it look? The, uh, the wound.” Michael felt like such a helpless idiot.

“Not as green, which I think is a good sign.”

There was a moment – a short, fleeting moment – that Michael thought he could hear Gavin crying, but then there were more footsteps coming from outside their rooms and loud voices interrupted them. Within seconds, the door to Gavin’s room was opened and the lad was being removed, voice hoarse as he begged them to put him down. Like every time before, he was ignored, punished for his noise with audible hits to his body. Michael was yelling, demanding that they let him go, for them to leave him alone and to pick on someone who could fight back. Then he was left just screaming Gavin’s name over and over again as the Brit was dragged somewhere else in the house where all that escaped were the echoes of his enduring pain.

It all happened so quickly that Michael wasn’t even sure if Gavin had ever actually been in the room next to him; it could have been a dream, for all the time it took. Maybe there never had been a strange man caring for Gavin’s wounds, maybe that had all been made up in his mind to help deal with the overwhelming stress of it all. He wouldn’t put it past his own imagination to come up with such a hopeful scene and then dash it all away with more torture. He just really, really hoped it was real. He desperately needed it to be real.

…………………………

Trevor ended up being an invaluable resource; not only did he know information on the gang that took Michael and Gavin but he was also a treasure trove of knowledge on where to find the best supplies in the city, who was the best fence to sell through, that kid of stuff. In the few years since they had parted, Alfredo could see that a lot had changed. Or, as Trevor put it, a lot had finally come out, because apparently he was getting into trouble long before they’d met. This didn’t really come as a surprise to Alfredo, if he was being honest with himself – the other man had always been a little _eccentric_.

It turned out that the Chain was a gang from several hours north of Los Santos, small in numbers like the Fakes but much less well-known. Trevor said that they mostly dealt in petty theft and drug deals, or at least that’s what they’d been up to when they contracted him to steal some priceless jewels or whatever from some rich guy. Said they’d pay him more than they were worth – something about it being more of a personal thing – but after he’d given them the score, they’d essentially dropped off the face of the earth. He knew that they had a base somewhere closer to Los Santos but he was never told where. And if there was one thing the Chain had going for them, it was their ability to just blend in, not attract attention.

“That’s why no one here’s ever heard of them,” Trevor surmised. “They’ve probably only been in the city for a couple months and have been keeping it low-key.”

Geoff had a little frown on his face. “But why break that silence and go after us? That’s a pretty big leap _and_ a really dumb thing to do.”

“Maybe they think they can benefit from this; take down the big boys, show how weak they really are, and then swoop right in to take their place.”

“Seems a little cheep, ya know? Jack and I worked too damn hard for this crew for it to be surpassed by some wannabes.”

There was a glint in Trevor’s eyes as he looked at Geoff. “I have a feeling that I’ve added some fuel to this fire and I’ll have to tell you, I’m very excited.” Alfredo gave him an odd look. “What! They owe me a lot of money! Besides, they’re really not very nice people.”

From there, it was simply a matter of getting more information. Trevor was helpful, yes, but without the location (or even a clue) of their Los Santos base, they were more or less back to square one. Well, square two. Maybe three.

Trevor helped Ryan in other ways too; he was actually quite knowledgeable in many things computer and Ryan used him as a sounding board for his ideas on how to gain access to more of Gavin’s stuff. He was a constant source of stability when Ryan went down rabbit hole after rabbit hole and it was Trevor who suggested that maybe Gavin had his own set up of monitoring systems around the city. Which was honestly a true stroke of genius because as it turns out yes, Gavin absolutely had his own system scattered about, cheekily labeled the “Golden Web” in his file structures, taunting them with its overly obvious name.

It was just a matter of how the hell they were supposed to get into it, which turned out to be an entire process in of itself since Gavin was a bloody _genius_ and couldn’t help but make the craziest programs and firewalls when it came to protecting his custom equipment. A couple (very frustrating) days passed with Ryan and Trevor tucked away together in the computer room while they slowly worked their way in. On the bright side, Trevor was really starting to feel like part of the crew.

When they finally gained access, a floodgate of information was released, hundreds of camera feeds suddenly at their fingertips. Trevor directed their eyes to the northwest and Ryan set the system to recognize the daisy symbol if it ever showed up again. Then they spent hours and hours looking over the footage from the day of the ambush, trying to track down the vehicles that took Gavin and Michael. Even with all of the fancy tech helping them, it would take a while to get anywhere useful and they knew it, but they were more determined than ever and felt like maybe, just maybe, they were getting somewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh ho ho, I wonder who our mystery man is 😎
> 
> [Please come scream with me](http://toasterness.tumblr.com).


	5. I Think I Need Help

Michael didn’t hear from the man who helped Gavin for almost five days. In that time, Gavin’s screams had grown lower, rougher, and Michael’s own interrogations had increased. Marco started showing back up and was in the room with him more often than not, mocking him and giving him graphic details about what they were doing to Gavin right at that moment, laughing when he tried to yell but the gag they put in his mouth for these sessions muffled it. When he was alone, he found himself sobbing more than he ever had before in his life, angry tears spilling down his face. He was hungry, thirsty, and, above all else, so incredibly _tired_ ; he could hardly sleep, the knowledge that he was directly causing Gavin pain keeping him awake despite him knowing that he had no other choice.

When the man finely showed back up, it was hours deep into the night and Michael had a new layer of dried vomit on his left side.

“You look like shit,” he said once he’d entered the room and saw Michael’s state.

“Didn’t take you for a flatterer.”

Instead of answering, the man moved forward and Michael finally got a view of their wannabe savior: he was short, well-built, and bald, with a neat beard and a pair of sunglasses tipped up onto his head. He had a deep frown on his face as he looked Michael over. From a bag on his side, he pulled out another one of those bottled protein shakes and began shaking it.

“I’d clean you up a bit if I thought they wouldn’t notice,” he said as he unscrewed the lid. Michael listened closely to make sure he heard the _click_ of the seal breaking. “Just try not to throw this one up, ok?”

Michael snorted. “Yeah, I totally meant to spew my guts earlier.”

Despite his retort, Michael still tilted his head back and gladly gulped down the protein shake. It was thick and tasted like artificial vanilla but it was more substance than he’d had since, well, the last time the man had been there. His mouth was coated in sticky sweetness. Thankfully, a water bottle was opened next and Michael drank the whole thing too.

When the empty bottles were tucked away into the man’s bag, he started to move around Michael’s body, shifting his clothing every so often as if searching for something.

“What’re you doing?” Michael growled, squirming under the scrutiny.

“Relax, I’m just looking for injuries I can treat without raising suspicion.” He paused, frown deepening. “But you’re practically blank. Just filthy.”

Pain lanced through Michael’s chest as he thought about why that was. “Your _friends_ think it’s more effective to take out their issues on Gavin instead of me.”

The man grimaced before returning to his search. “They’re not my friends.”

“I find that hard to believe, considering.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

Michael snorted. “That’s part of the problem though, ain’t it? I _don’t_ know anything except I can’t trust you. You might be helping now but you and I both know that could change at any moment.”

“You can trust me enough to help you survive.”

“I doubt that. I’m not falling for this Stockholm bull shit.”

The other man smiled humorlessly. “I’m the best you’ve got.”

Michael hated it. Because yeah, he knew that was the truth, alright? He understood that without this man, Gavin would probably already be dead and Michael would have starved. He wasn’t stupid, he just wasn’t going to trust someone without justification, especially if that someone happened to be a part of the gang that kidnapped him. It seemed perfectly reasonable.

“How’d you get the keys to our rooms if they don’t trust you then?”

Another emotionless smirk. “I’m pretty good at sneaking around. It’s not like these thugs are really the smartest of the bunch anyway.”

There was a gentle touch to Michael’s wrists where the rope holding him had been chaffing for days on end and he hissed in pain, trying his hardest to flinch away from the contact. The man muttered a quiet _sorry_ before grabbing out something from his bag. Soon something cool and wet was being applied to the skin there. It felt so _good_ and Michael couldn’t help but let out the tiniest of whimpers. To distract himself, Michael focused his attention on finding out about Gavin.

“How is he?” He hadn’t meant for his voice to come out sounding so small but there it was, betraying his anxiety.

Michael expected the man to look guilty but instead he just looked tired, sad even. “He’s, uh, not doing as good as I’d like.”

And there it was, Michael could feel his resolve start to crumble around him.

“Is it his leg?”

“Yeah. I can’t treat the infection any more than I have. He needs antibiotics.”

Michael had seen infected wounds before – had experienced several himself – and knew how dangerous they could be if left untreated for too long. If it went septic and wasn’t treated, he’d be dead within a day. It had been what, a little over two weeks now since Gavin had been shot? The bullet had been removed and the site cleaned just a few days prior but the damage was already done. Gavin needed help and he needed it soon.

The man continued. “I’ve seen him each night since I got the bullet out. I keep the wound as clean as I can without cluing the others in on what I’m doing and I keep him fed but I can tell he’s losing steam. It doesn’t look like the infection has been there for the whole time he’s been here but it’s hard to tell. I can’t save him, he needs a _doctor_ ; I’m just prolonging the inevitable at this point.” A pause, his voice getting softer. “He asks about you constantly; he’s worried they’re hurting you. I tell him they’re not, which is mostly true, and we talk about good memories and shit so it distracts him when I disinfect his other injuries. He seems like a really good dude...”

The place where Michael’s heart was normally beating squeezed tight around empty air. That sure sounded like Gavin, always worried about other people over himself. He’d always been that way, more so with Michael than anyone else. It stung that this strange man was the one who was comforting his best friend – god, it hurt so much that it couldn’t be him – but he was thankful that at least _someone_ was. He hoped it was the truth.

“Yeah, he’s the best.”

Brown eyes bored right into his. “I can get us all out of here.”

“Are you just using us to help yourself?”

“Maybe a little, yeah.”

Michael appreciated that he was honest; if there was one thing he could trust it was man’s innate selfishness and proclivity for self-preservation. “Give me a reason why I should trust you. Give me a reason to believe that you’ve been telling the truth and that you’re not actually part of this fucking gang. You’re clearly the one in the position of power here and I need to _know_.”

There was a pause. The man was looking at Michael like there was an internal struggle happening, his face all screwed up and almost confused. He crossed his arms and tapped his fingers along his own skin while he thought. Eventually, he took a deep breath and stood a little straighter, clearly having made up his mind.

“My name’s Jeremy,” he began, not dropping eye contact. “Used to do underground fights, made my money off betting pools and shit like that. One day, new guy calling himself Marco shows up and tells me I’ll make ten times my normal winnings if I throw this fight. I was behind on rent and needed the cash so I did it and yeah, it was a lot more than I normally take in. Didn’t like it but like I said, I needed the money. He says he can’t offer that to me very often but I did it a few more times after that, just to keep things interesting. Helped my normal fights too, having everyone thinking you’re not as good as you are.

Anyway, he comes back again with an even bigger offer – this huge fight I was already gearing up for – and I said I’d do it. But then fight day happens and the big idiot I’m up against spends his time insulting me and my family and I fuckin’ knocked him out in one hit, didn’t I? Deserved it. But then I’m fuckin’ ambushed by Marco and his men after the fight, saying I lost them tens of thousands of dollars. They blackmailed me into working muscle for them to pay them back. I didn’t agree to kidnapping and torture though.”

“So when you said you were already being followed-”

“I meant they don’t trust me as far as they can throw me and I’m real limited in my options for helping even myself.”

Michael considered all of this; if he was in Jeremy’s position, he would probably do the same thing. Hell, he totally understood how he and Gavin presented the perfect opportunity – two key members of a powerful crew made for excellent bargaining chips.

“Are we gonna go from being your crew’s hostages to your own or-?”

Jeremy huffed. “No! I just can’t get you both out all on my own and I figured your crew would be good back up when it came down to it.”

“I sense an ‘and’ in there.”

“And if I got you out, maybe you’d be a bit helpful in keeping Marco off my back?”

“There it is.”

“Look, I’m your best hope at getting anywhere other than this tiny ass room and getting your friend actual medical help. Do you want it or not?”

There was a slightly desperate tone to Jeremy’s voice but his face was nothing but serious. Michael knew there were risks, he knew this could all come back and blow up in his face and end up hurting Gavin even more. But despite his brain repeatedly demanding he not trust this guy, that he was being stupid stupid _stupid_ , his gut told him Jeremy was genuine and over his lifetime Michael had learned that his instincts should be trusted. He’d take it all with a huge grain of salt but if this was going to be his best (and only) option, he’d play into it for now.

“I’m in if Gavin is.”

So Michael sent Jeremy away to check on Gavin and to collect the answer to a special question that he could only get from the Brit. He told him he would trust him if and only if he brought back the correct phrase. He didn’t know how long it would be till he saw Jeremy again but he knew they would need to get started right away. As luck would have it, he only had to wait a day. The moment Michael heard Jeremy say the words, he felt his heart jump-start and allowed himself the tiniest of smiles.

“What the hell is a Nice Dynamite?”

………………………………..

_Ping._

A small red text box popped up in the corner of the screen. When Ryan clicked on it, a separate window opened displaying what looked like a bank account summary; fifty dollars had just been removed from a pool of only one thousand. At first, he was confused as to why Gavin had set up this particular account to notify him when such a little amount was removed, especially since it was a secure crew account. Perhaps it was just more of his paranoia?

Except then he saw the account type and it hit him: this was one of the crew’s dead-drops. No one accessed these special accounts unless something was wrong – they were being followed, their cover was blown, things like that. They were among their most secure accounts and there was only one card per account, each one attached to a different crew member – this one was Michael’s. Different sums of money that could be withdrawn had specific meanings to indicate what the problem was without revealing anything to anyone but the others in the crew.

Fifty dollars meant “I’m in deep shit”.

With new resolve, Ryan quickly pulled up the security camera footage from the ATM where the money had been taken out. The grainy black and white images revealed a stocky man wearing a cowboy hat, large sunglasses on so he couldn’t quite make out all of his face. Ryan scanned the man’s jacket but didn’t find a daisy symbol anywhere on it, which gave him only a little relief; he had to be from this new gang or how else would he have come into possession of the card _and_ its PIN? The terrifying thought of it being tortured out of either Gavin or Michael crossed his mind but they would never give that kind of thing out...would they?

“Geoff!” Ryan called out without taking his eyes of the computer screen. “Geoff, you need to come here right now!”

Running footsteps originating from the living room announced Geoff’s hurried arrival. “What? What is it?”

“Michael’s dead-drop account’s been accessed.”

Geoff’s face turned white. “And?”

“Fifty bucks.”

“ _Fuck_.”

Ryan pointed to the screen where the footage was now running a loop of the stranger at the ATM. “Do you recognize him? He’s the one who pulled the money.”

“Not much to go off of but no, don’t think I’ve ever seen him.”

“How’d he get the PIN, Geoff?” Ryan’s voice was strained.

Geoff frowned and crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the man on the screen; he was doing the bare minimum to disguise his face and even the dumbest of criminals knew that every ATM had a camera nowadays. Either he was ballsy and didn’t care or he _wanted_ them to see him, wanted them to know who he was. But then why not just look straight into the camera or contact them directly? What was stopping this man? They’d have to take it as the boon that it was and use it to their advantage even if he was a part of the gang that took Michael and Gavin.

“For now, let’s hope it was given willingly and focus on what we’ve got from this.” Geoff declared with what he hoped was perceived as confidence. “See if you can run what we have of his face through some software and find out who he is.”

There was renewed fervor in Ryan’s movements as his fingers immediately began to fly across the keyboard; he would try anything if it meant getting any sort of leg up. He couldn’t trust for a minute that this guy didn’t mean Michael or Gavin harm but every lead had to be followed and every scrap of hope collected.

“Send out a still image to the rest of the crew so they know and can check in with their contacts,” Geoff added while he exited the room. “I’m gonna call Burnie again.”

Ryan did exactly that. It was the easiest thing he’d done all day; Gavin hadn’t bothered locking the facial recognition software because it was a simple enough patch into the LSPD’s system that they’d been using for years. It took three clicks and a couple short lines of code to gain him access and bam, their mystery man was being compared to thousands upon thousands of known faces. Passport and driver’s license photos, mugshots, even school IDs were checked. Hopefully the sunglasses didn’t cause too much issue. He left it running while he went back to visually analyzing the ATM footage.

Five, ten, fifteen minutes went by and Ryan saw nothing new about it. He rewound it to before the man arrived and still nothing. He fast-forwarded to when the man walked away and nothing. It felt like he’d checked every single frame but come up empty-handed.

“Come on, there’s got to be somethi-”

There, right as the man takes the money from the machine, he looks up over the rims of his sunglasses and straight into the camera for only maybe a second. What did it mean? Ryan leaned in closer to the screen and flipped through those few frames, looking for anything special. And then he saw it, the quick-as-a-flash hand signal he made with his left hand as he reached for the money with his right; thumb and ring finger lightly tapped together three times, so subtle that you’d have to know what it was to see it – the sign for ‘friendly’. There was no way this guy wasn’t specifically told what it meant, not when he was doing it in conjunction with the account access.

Michael or Gavin told him to do it, there was no other explanation.

They were telling the crew that this man could be trusted.

They were telling them that there was a way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we goooooooo 😎
> 
> I'm [Toasterness](http://toasterness.tumblr.com) on pretty much everything, so come and say hi!


	6. The Keys To Success

It was a simple plan, really:

Jeremy would covertly leave clues at Michael and Gavin’s dead-drops – special locations and trigger-able events that were used in dire situations to give information to the crew – careful to not let the Chain in on what he was doing. He would keep going till the Fakes figured it out and came to get them, staying hyper-vigilant for any clue that they had arrived at the concealed house. It was simple, yes, but relied completely on Jeremy’s ability to keep the Chain from figuring out what he was doing and the Fakes figuring out what the clues meant. There was a lot of room for failure.

On his first trip out, he’d been uncharacteristically nervous. He’d fought people twice his size with confidence but for some reason sneaking around to an ATM to flash some secret hand signal gave him anxiety. He’d needed to steal Michael’s wallet back from the Chain’s vault to get a very specific debit card and then use a very specific PIN to access it and then pull out a very specific amount of cash. Michael had been very clear that all of these things were crucial for the plan to work and Jeremy was convinced he would forget something or get caught.

So far it seemed like they were in the clear.

The next dead-drop was used two days later when Jeremy was sent out by Marco to fetch some ammunition. He took the time to drive all the way back into the city to get them, making the excuse that he wanted to trade out his car for another of his that was being kept in a garage downtown. In reality, he paid a visit to one of Gavin’s external garages and traded his own car in for the Brit’s Batti. He wore his old Mount Chiliad State Wilderness hoodie and signed the bike out of the building as Marcus Knutte. Michael had assured him that the name meant stood for “in hiding” and that when recorded or used in any system, Gavin’s ‘golden’ web would pick up on it and notify the crew. Jeremy could only hope that the Fakes would see the ridiculous name and pick up on his shirt revealing their location.

Every time he spoke to Michael though – it was like wading through a swamp; even though the other man was going along with things, Jeremy constantly felt the distrust radiating from him in waves. In context, it was completely understandable, but Jeremy still wished there was something he could say to relieve the tension that clogged the air when he was in Michael’s room. If – no, _when_ the plan worked, maybe then he would finally believe and understand that Jeremy meant no harm, that he was truly only involved because he really didn’t have any other choice and that he was trying to atone for his involvement. He knew it would take a lot but he was ready to work for it.

Because Gavin was failing fast and Jeremy knew that if he couldn’t get him out in one piece, there was absolutely no way that he wouldn’t feel the wrath of the entire Fake AH Crew. And besides that, he actually _liked_ the British man; he was relentlessly snarky even after all he’d been through and was clearly whip-crack smart. Jeremy didn’t want him to die, he really didn’t. Selfish original plans aside, this rescue attempt actually meant more to him now than just a way out of his shitty situation. He was going to make sure this thing worked, no matter how little Michael trusted him to do so.

…………………………….

It took Ryan approximately 47 hours to figure out what the hidden clue was in the second dead-drop, three weeks in to the hunt for Michael and Gavin.

“They’re in the woods!” He yelled down the hall.

Jack walked quickly down the hallway to Gavin’s office. Ryan had been basically living in there for the past two weeks, holed up like a gremlin, and she was a worried about how little sleep he was getting. She knew he was working hard to decipher the clues being left behind by their mystery helper but it didn’t do much to alleviate her concern. Perhaps this clue would give them some more hope.

“Where?”

Ryan pointed at one of the screens in front of him that showed camera footage of the cowboy hat-wearing man in one of their off-site garages. “He signed out Gavin’s Batti using Gav’s dumb dead-drop name.”

“How do we know he’s in the woods?”

“Look at his hoodie – halfway through signing out, he scratches his chest.”

Jack gave him a questioning look. “Soo…?”

“Watch.” Ryan clicked through several video frames one at a time. “Look at his fingers.”

Sure enough, in the span of only a couple seconds, the man crossed his middle finger over his ring finger and went _tap tap_ right over the word ‘Wilderness’. Jack made him play it again so she could be sure that was what he had done. That particular set of crossed fingers was crew heist lingo for ‘meet up’, usually used to indicate to the others that the plan was to meet back at a pre-designated rendezvous.

“You think he did it on purpose?”

“Would be a pretty big coincidence if he hadn’t.”

“Chiliad, huh?”

“A good place for a hideout.”

By the time the third dead-drop was used, Trevor and Ryan had already narrowed down an area in the forest near Chiliad as the most likely area to find the Chain’s hideout. They’d used Gavin’s network of cameras to search for possible vehicles used in the initial kidnapping and were pretty confident they had it. It was actually Alfredo who figured it out though; he’d wandered by the open door to the computer room and happened to see the footage of the highway headed north ten minutes after Michael’s final communication.

“Those SUVs...do they look familiar to you?” He’d asked.

Ryan had looked very confused. “What SUVs?”

“Those two black ones, right there. They’re following each other.”

“That doesn’t really mean anything; look how many other SUVs are on the road with them.”

“Yeah but-” Alfredo tapped the screen. “Seriously, I think we passed them when we turned around to go back for Gav and Michael? Like, two of them, just like those ones, one right after the other...”

Ryan clicked around a bit and they were then looking at more footage from closer to the scene of the abduction. Sure enough, every few streets showed two black SUVs driving close together on their way out of the city. They had appeared minutes after Michael’s final radio call, originating from the area right next to the alleyway. While they had done a good job of avoiding or destroying the cameras around the site, the Chain had not known about Gavin’s and that left room for the Fakes to see them.

“Holy shit,” Ryan had whispered under his breath.

When the final drop pinged, it was the nail in the coffin; their inside man called the penthouse.

Granted, it was a number that was put through so many loops that it was untraceable, they couldn’t actually talk to him (this particular system used pre-recorded conversations to filter out callers), and it wasn’t _technically_ a real call to their base BUT it still gave them the biggest clue they’d had thus far.

“Hello?” Jack’s voice.

“Yeah, uh, hey.” The voice on the other end of the line was a little tinny but still clear as day as it came over the intercom system. Everyone stopped what they were doing to listen intently. “Do you guys deliver all the way out to Woodstock?”

“I’m sorry, I think have the wrong number.”

“Oh, damn, my bad. Google must have messed up.”

“Happens all the time, no worries!”

“Well, have a good evening. Bye.”

This particular number was used for when the crew needed to get information back to the others without the call being traced. It was an effective tool for those pesky times that one of them is arrested; they got their one phone call and the police didn’t have the opportunity to track down their base. Michael or Gavin must have told him what the line would say so that he could hold a genuine-sounding conversation with it despite no real person being on the other end.

“But what did he mean by Woodstock?” Geoff asked when they all met in the living room to discuss. “That’s way over on the east side of the country.”

Trevor raised his a hand a bit. “There’s Woodstock Avenue out towards Vespucci.”

“Yeah but I thought we’d narrowed it down to Chiliad?”

“There’s got to be a deeper meaning. What would the lads have told him it meant?”

They all sat there in different stages of thought. Jack had her legs crossed and was rapidly shaking her foot, Geoff eventually got up to pace around the room, and Ryan kept tossing a knife between his hands. They all wracked their brains for something, _anything_ that explained the use of the name ‘Woodstock’. What the hell was it supposed to mean?

“What if,-” Alfredo began, brows furrowed. “What if it’s got to do with only part of the word.”

Jack looked up at him. “How do you mean?”  
“Well, our other info points to the forest around Chiliad and there’s obviously _wood_ there, so that backs it up. I was just thinking that where there’s a lot of wood, there’s usually a-”

“Lumber mill,” Ryan interrupted, clarity dawning on his features and eyes lighting up with hope. “There’s that lumber mill in the back woods at the base of Chiliad.”

Geoff uncrossed his arms and stopped moving. “But that thing’s still in operation; the Wilhelms still run it.”

“Do we know if there are any other buildings in the area?” Jack asked.

Ryan quickly stood up. “We can sure as hell find out.”

Rushing to the computers, Ryan immediately navigated back to the satellite imagery Gavin had access to (courtesy of a security-lacking Zancuto) and zooming in on the land surrounding the lumber yard in the Paleto Forest. The trees made the view difficult but after a few minutes he eventually found it – a sprawling two-story house far up into the foothills of Mount Chiliad. The icing on the cake? Several black SUVs parked in the gravel driveway.

Geoff smirked at the image, finally seeming more like himself again. “Guess they have a brand.”

……………………………..

Once again, Michael was yanked from his fitful slumber, this time by the door to his room opening. He mentally prepared himself for the inevitable sound of Marco’s voice filling his head with twisted words but it never came. Instead, he felt the bonds at his wrists begin to loosen and another familiar voice speak quietly next to his head.

“Your friends are here, we gotta go before shit goes down.” Jeremy sounded out of breath.

A couple of seconds later and Michael’s wrists were free and Jeremy began working on the ropes holding his arms behind his back. His brain was still a bit sluggish. “What?”

“I caught a glimpse of your crew outside prepping their assault. I need to get you and Gavin out before things get dirty.” The ropes feel off and blood rushed painfully into Michael’s arms as he gently pulled them in front of his body for the first time in weeks. Jeremy got to work on his legs next. “Marco will try to take you somewhere else as soon as he realizes what is going on and we can’t risk it.”

“Where do they have Gavin?”

“Just a couple rooms down. It’s a little past two, most everyone is asleep but I’ll still need help carrying Gavin.”

As soon as his legs were free, Michael tried to stand up; he immediately had to sit back down, his body not used to the movement. Jeremy had to grab onto his arms to prevent him from tipping over and his fingers tingled with stabbing pins and needles. He took several deep breaths and tried again, this time maintaining his balance, albeit a little unsteadily.

“Let’s go.”

The two men crept into the hallway with as silent of steps as they could. It was the first time Michael had seen any of the interior of the house besides the one wall of his room and he was surprised at how normal it looked; old framed pictures hung on the walls, a soft-looking brown rug ran along the length of the hall, and the dull glow of a reading lamp reached them from around a corner. The only things belying its true nature were the dust and cobwebs caking almost everything, dulling their colors. This used to be someone’s _home_.

When they reached the corner, Jeremy held up his hand to tell Michael to stay there as he moved silently around it. When Michael peaked around, he watched as the shorter man snuck up behind a man in a leather jacket, put him in a headlock, and brought him to the ground as he choked the air out of him. As soon as he was unconscious – dead? – Michael walked to the door. Jeremy unlocked it and before he could be stopped, Michael was rushing forward into the room.

He didn’t know what exactly he expected to see. The images in his head were of Gavin tied up and bleeding, bruised and burned. But the site that greeted him was instead of Gavin lying on the floor, no restraints in site, limbs laying in awkward angles like he had fallen that way and not moved. He was naked except for a pair of filthy boxers and every inch of his skin was covered in a thin layer of dried blood, hundreds of scabbing cuts littering his flesh. Under the blood, Michael could see huge bruises, especially around his chest and stomach, and the distinct bubbling texture of burned skin. The bullet wound in his calf was glaringly red, though there didn’t seem to be any obvious pus or weeping. His face was mostly untouched except for a black eye and one long slice that ran up his cheek from chin to just above his left eyebrow. All of his golden locks were dull with sweat and blood, matted to his skull. Michael had to slap his hand to his mouth to muffle the guttural cry that ripped unbidden from his throat.

“Gav-” he choked out as he dropped to the floor next to his friend.

Jeremy walked to the other side of Gavin. “We need to wake him up and leave, _now_.”

Michael reached out and gently took Gavin’s hand in his, squeezing. He fought to keep his voice from cracking. “Boi, you gotta wake up. The fam’s here, time to go.”

“Nnn,” came Gavin’s groaned reply, body barely moving as he stirred awake.

“That’s it boi, come back to me.”

There was a severe sluggishness in Gavin’s movements as he finally opened his eyes and began to try and sit up. “Wha-? Michael?”

“Hey there,” Michael whispered, using his other hand to hold up Gavin by the middle of his back. He smiled a little, the sight of Gavin’s eyes filling him with hope. “How’re you holding up?”

Gavin’s voice was slightly slurred. “Right as rain.”

“Shit,” Michael muttered under his breath. He looked up to Jeremy, who raised one eyebrow in question. “Crew slang for ‘pretty damn shitty’”.

Without prompting, Jeremy crouched down and put one arm underneath Gavin’s. He gave Michael a nod.

“Jeremy and I are gonna help you walk, ok? Can you put your arms around our shoulders?”

Gavin nodded and did as asked. His whole body shook and Michael’s skin burned where it touched him. The breath that left him was hot and came in short, fast huffs. It was a bit of a struggle to get all three of them standing again but eventually they made it. Just as they made it through the door, gunshots could be heard coming from outside.

“Hear that, Gav? Cavalry’s here.”

They rushed through the house as fast as they could, Gavin being held up between the other two men. It was awkward with Jeremy being several inches shorter than both Gavin and Michael but they made it work. The Brit could barely support himself and he leaned heavily on Michael, favoring his bad leg. By some amazing stroke of luck, they didn’t meet anyone along their way; Marco’s men were presumably distracted by the Fakes’ attack.

“This way,” Jeremy instructed, leading them towards a glass door that led outside. “It’ll take us out back where I can get you somewhere your guys will see you before Marco does. Hopefully.”

Jeremy didn’t bother using the door handle but instead just kicked the door open. The glass panel shattered with the force and the hinges creaked loudly as it swung outward. The three men stumbled outside. Pulling a pistol from his waistband, Jeremy readjusted his hold on Gavin before they continued on.

They’d barely made it two steps before a dark blur ran in front of them and Jeremy was knocked away, Gavin and Michael going sprawling with a simultaneous grunt. When Michael looked up, a hulking figure had Jeremy pinned to the wall, feet dangling below him. A jolt of recognition ran through him at the site of white face paint in the visage of a skull.

……………………………….

He’d finally found them, Ryan had finally found them. They were being led out of the house by a shorter man. Was he taking them away? Did he hear the gunshots and decide to run away with his captives? No, Ryan wouldn’t allow it, not when he was so close. It didn’t even register that the man was _helping_ Michael carry Gavin out.

Within seconds he had the man up against the wall of the house. It was easy, the adrenaline in his blood fueling his rage; he felt unstoppable. But the man still struggled, pushing Ryan’s arm holding the knife up to his face away, growling something that he didn’t bother listening to. He could feel Michael moving behind him on the ground. It was regrettable that he and Gavin had been pushed aside but it had needed to be done.

“Ryan, _no!_ ”

But Ryan could barely hear Michael; blood was pounding in his ears and he was seeing red. He now had his knife a hair’s breath away from the man’s throat. He struggled but Ryan was bigger, stronger, _angrier_. But Michael was still yelling.

“ _Ryan, stop, he’s with us!_ ”

This got to Ryan’s head and he hesitated just a little bit but still kept the knife pressed against the guy’s neck. “What?”

A hand grabbed the bicep of the arm holding the blade. “Jesus Christ, he’s the one who’s been sending you shit, got us outta there when you guys arrived!”

And then Ryan actually took the time to look at the man’s face; sure enough, it was the face of the man from the surveillance footage, minus the gaudy cowboy hat. It dawned on him what he was doing and he immediately dropped him and stepped back, Michael still holding onto his arm.

“I didn’t-”

“Doesn’t fucking matter now, you gotta take Gavin and go.”

Ryan stared down at Michael, confusion racing through his brain. “You’re not coming with us?”

The lad glanced over at the shorter man, who was rubbing his throat and glaring at Ryan. “Jeremy’s gonna help me take care of something.”

“I’m gonna what?” The man – _Jeremy –_ shot back in surprise.

“You’re gonna take me back to find Marco so I can kill that fucking monster myself.”

Ryan knew that voice, knew the rage that couldn’t be calmed as it radiated from Michael. He knew there would be no trying to convince him to come with them.

“You need to get Gav outta here, ok? He needs a doctor, a real doctor.” Michael looked back at Ryan, a pleading look in his eyes. “Please, Rye, you gotta do this for me.”

Ryan felt the heat of Michael’s hand still gripping his bicep and knew he could never say no. “Alright. I’ll let the others know. But you come outta there alive, you hear me?”

“Thank you.” It was whispered, sincere in a way only Michael could be.

Michael let go of his arm and Ryan ran back to where Gavin still lay crumpled on the ground. He pulled the lad upright so that he could easily pick him up. With gentle movements, he hoisted the lad into his arms and stood, one arm under his knees and the other supporting his shoulders, Gavin’s head resting on his chest. More gunfire could be heard on the other side of the house, along with orders being shouted by someone and cries of pain; the others had arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter after this one, I think, is where we're at! Thanks for sticking with it <3
> 
> I am once again asking you to come and yell at me on [Tumblr](http://toasterness.tumblr.com)


	7. The End Of The Game

Logically, Michael knew that Gavin would be ok – Ryan was with him now and he would soon be getting the medical care that he so desperately needed. When Michael looked at him though, leaving him was the last thing he wanted to do; how could he when he’d just gotten him back? But he had business to take care of – Marco was still somewhere in that house and he needed to _die_.

As if he could sense that he was about to leave, Gavin reached out and grabbed Michael’s wrist.

“Michael...”

Michael moved closer to his friend, placing his hands softly on either side of his face. Gavin closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, body lax in Ryan’s arms and tears carving trails down his face. Michael used his thumbs to wipe them away as they fell.

“I’m scared, Michael,” Gavin whispered.

“Shh I know boi, me too.” Michael continued to stroke his thumbs across Gavin’s cheekbones, pushing all the comfort he could into the action. “But I’m gonna make this right, ok? I’m gonna fix this.”

“Are you leaving?”

“Only for a little bit, I promise. I need to take care of something.”

Gavin opened his eyes to look into Michael’s. “You have to be careful.”

“Of course. And as soon as I’m done, I’ll come back. I’m gonna take care of you.”

“Ok.”

Michael leaned in to press his lips lightly to Gavin’s forehead. “See you soon, boi.”

“Make him suffer?”

“Nothing less.”

It took all of his strength to do so but Michael forced himself to let go of Gavin and step away. He gave one last small smile to his best friend and then turned to Jeremy, who was already moving towards the door back into the house. As he was about to join him, Ryan spoke up.

“Take my knife,” he said, tilting his head to the right, his voice rougher than usual. Michael glanced down, saw the hilt of Ryan’s massive hunting knife, and pulled it from its sheath. “Stay safe. I don’t want to lose you again.”

Michael nodded once and ran to follow Jeremy. The shorter man led him back into the house and down the hallway they had previously passed through. It seemed like all of the fighting was happening outside and therefore the house was empty; they didn’t meet anyone along their way. Jeremy headed up the stairs, careful to make as little noise as possible. He held his gun out in front of him the whole time.

“His office is the third door on the left,” he murmured when they reached the second floor, pointing ahead of himself. “If he hasn’t ran away already, he’s probably watching it all from in there.”

With careful steps, Michael crept up to the indicated door. He listened, sticking his ear right up against the wood, focusing hard to hear any noises coming from within. It was difficult due to the loud sounds of fighting coming from outside but after a couple seconds, Michael heard something; there was shuffling, like papers were being moved around, and low cursing in a man’s voice. As far as he was concerned, that was enough evidence to convince him, so he readied the knife in his hand, grabbed the handle, and ripped open the door.

In a movement almost mirroring Ryan’s earlier attempt on Jeremy’s life, Michael leapt onto Marco’s chest and held the knife to his neck, knocking him fully down onto his back. Jeremy ran over and gripped the man’s legs before he could wriggle away. Combined with Michael’s own weight, this kept him solidly trapped on the ground. His eyes were wide and his expression nothing but surprised, mouth open like he was about to say something. Michael got there first.

“Polo, bitch.”

Marco didn’t have time to make a sound; the knife had already been drug across his windpipe and the air knocked from his lungs from the tackle. He could only gurgle on his own blood as it gushed from the wound. Michael felt it splash hotly against the skin of his hands and face but smiled maniacally through it all, staring Marco down as he watched him die. The body under him thrashed for only a few seconds before it lay limp and Michael saw no more life in those disgusting eyes.

The relief was instant, like a massive boulder being lifted from his shoulders. Michael had never really relished in killing people – he was more into the destructive power of explosives than seeing the life drain from somebody – but this was different; he felt _fulfilled_. Marco was dead and the rest of the Fakes were taking care of his crew and Gavin was safe. He allowed himself a long few moments to just let it all sink in.

“We should go,” Jeremy eventually said.

Michael took a big breath. He didn’t trust himself to say coherent words so he just stood up, giving himself one last glimpse of Marco’s corpse on the floor before heading to the door. Jeremy followed suit and then they were running back down the stairs and out the back door again. His limbs ached something awful, the adrenaline finally starting to wind down and the reality of being tied to a chair for over three weeks setting in to his bones. Every few steps, he would stumble over his feet; Jeremy would steady him every time.

They ran into the woods surrounding the house. Sounds of fighting continued to reach them from the other side, evidence that the Fakes were still around, so they made a massive loop around to the front of the house with the goal of contacting the others and getting the hell out of there. They didn’t have time to get all the way there though – headlights shone through the trees towards them and soon a large 4x4 was pulling up next to them, Ryan sticking his head out of the window.

“Get in!” He shouted. “I’ve got Gav in the back!”

Without sparing a second glance back, Michael yanked open the door to the back seats and hauled himself in. He barely noticed Jeremy jumping into the front passenger seat and Ryan radioing the others that he’d picked the two of them up and was headed out; he was too preoccupied by the sight of Gavin, buckled in and wrapped in a large wool blanket, sweat pouring down the lad’s flushed face. Michael immediately pulled him into his chest and held him there, whispering soft assurances as Ryan drove them out of the woods along a tight dirt road. When a clammy hand found his and gripped on weakly, he squeezed back and held Gavin tighter.

It was a long ride back to the city.

…………………………..

Jeremy could count on one hand the number of times he had been a step away from death. He absolutely counted the one and only Vagabond holding a knife to his neck as one of them and he was considering being stuck in a car with said man for over an hour after busting out of an enemy gang’s hideout as one of them too. But Michael had been there and he was pretty sure the scary man in the face paint was more concerned with getting Gavin to the hospital than anything else. He’d lucked out, at least for the moment.

When they’d reached the hospital, Jeremy had expected resistance from the medical staff but several nurses and a doctor actually ran out to meet them, stretcher at the ready. Jeremy once again helped Michael carry the Brit, delivering him to the nurses. Jeremy had said his goodbyes then, not surprised or offended when Michael cut them short to run after Gavin as he was rolled into the ER. Instead he turned around to face the Vagabond once more. Maybe his luck would hold a little longer.

The taller man held out his hand. Shocked that he’d want to shake hands, Jeremy almost missed the cell phone that he was being offered.

“Uh, thanks?” He said warily as he took it, careful not to actually touch the other man.

The Vagabond just glared, his blue eyes piercing. “Go to the address listed in the open text message, then wait for a call. We’ll send somebody later.”

“Is it some kind of safe house?”

“Safe enough.”

With that, the Vagabond chucked him the keys to the car and jogged into the hospital.

Not thinking on it too much, Jeremy drove to the marked destination; it was a nondescript apartment just outside of the city, bland and under-furnished but clean. There were towels in the bathroom and spare clothes in the closet so he let himself have the luxury of a shower before laying down on the bed and staring at the ceiling. He planned on spending the next however many hours waiting for someone to call him on the phone that the Vagabond had given him, hoping that the rest of the Fakes understood who he was by now. All of a sudden, the events of the night caught up to him in one big rush and Jeremy felt like passing out, the relief at being out of that house and somewhere safe almost completely overwhelming him. He couldn’t help the harsh burst of laughter that came out.

He was _free_.

………………………………

Michael wasn’t allowed to see Gavin for two hours – _two hours_. The Brit had to get washed so they could treat him properly and all of his wounds then cleaned and bandaged. One of the attending nurses told Michael that the hole in Gavin’s leg required draining but that he wasn’t septic. That at least relieved some of his anxiety but it still wasn’t enough to calm the shaking in his limbs or the constant feeling of panic that he just couldn’t seem to get rid of. After Ryan had come back from washing the paint from his face, the older man had sat next to him and tried to comfort him as best he could – putting a warm hand on his back, sitting so their thighs were pressed against each other, soft words spoken only for him – which made the waiting easier and normally would have filled him with indescribable feelings, but nothing could really help till he was able to see Gavin.

When a nurse finally came to tell them they could go into the room where they’d put Gavin, Ryan stayed outside to talk to her and thank the staff for helping them while Michael entered the dark room. Inside, Gavin was dozing in the bed, multiple IVs attached to him along with heart monitors and that little plastic tube that poked a little into his nose to provide extra oxygen. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen the other lad like this but this felt different, like Michael was the one who put him there. Once again, he began to feel like he was drowning in guilt.

With soft steps, Michael approached the bed and sat in the chair that had been placed beside it. He reached out to take Gavin’s hand in his, careful not to move his arm much. It seemed like Gavin’s whole body was covered in white gauze and bandages, swaths of it wrapping his arms and what could be seen of his chest. It was worlds different than how he had last seen him – broken, bleeding, filthy – and yet it still hurt. He could still hear the screams.

“You’re thinking too hard,” came a raspy voice from right next to him.

Michael looked up – when had he closed his eyes? – to see Gavin looking right at him, small hopeful smile on his lips.

“Hey boi,” Michael whispered back. “How you feeling?”

Gavin gave a tiny shrug. “Been better, I reckon.”

A short laugh escaped from Michael’s chest. “Yeah, I’d say so. They, uh, they really got to you.”

“Eh, I’ll heal. How’d you hold up?”

“They barely touched me,” Michael admitted. “Instead they hurt you because I wouldn’t talk-”

“Hey, hey, it’s not your fault, ok?” Gavin squeezed his hand. “You were so strong to not say anything. I’m proud of you.”  
Michael allowed a single tear to fall down his face and gave a shaky smile as he wiped it off on his shoulder. “Could say the same for you.”

“Aren’t we a pair then.”

There were a few long seconds where Michael just looked at Gavin before standing up and making a shooing motion with his free hand. “Alright, move over, I’m coming in.”

Gavin gave no complaints as he shifted to the far side of the bed. Michael was thankful it was so large; he easily fit in the new free space. He moved so he could put his arm behind Gavin’s shoulders and the Brit’s head on the side of his chest. Their hands lay clasped over Gavin’s stomach. If anyone came in and tried to make him move, they were in for an earful; it would take nothing less than an act of god to move Michael, and even then he’d put up a good fight.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight for at least a month,” Michael breathed into Gavin’s slightly damp hair.

Gavin just laughed quietly, squishing a little bit closer.

A few minutes passed. Gavin’s breathing slowed down and Michael’s heartbeat was steady. The warmth of his best friend’s body pressed against him finally gave him the relief he needed. He was calm for the first time since they’d been taken.

“Love you, boi,” he whispered into the top of Gavin’s head.

The other lad shifted slightly. “Love you too,” he mumbled.

It would take a while for them to get better, for Gavin’s wounds to close and Michael to stop hearing his screams in his head when the world was quiet. But together, they would move on.

Together, they would heal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go, another big one, all done! Thanks so much for coming long on this journey with me, It's been so lovely! 
> 
> I can't wait to show you all the other projects I have on the line :D
> 
> As always, please come say hi to me on [Tumblr](http://toasterness.tumblr.com)! We can scream together!

**Author's Note:**

> Oh hey, it's me, thanks for joining me on another adventure. I hope you don't mind me hurting these poor lads again - I promise I won't make it too much of a habit.
> 
> As always, please come yell at me on [Tumblr](http://toasterness.tumblr.com)


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